


have you stopped to notice

by ineachandeveryway



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:08:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23862052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineachandeveryway/pseuds/ineachandeveryway
Summary: The truth is that she was bored, and that Granny needed some excuse to use her sickle—for the weeds—before it rusted into misuse. But it’d be a lie to say that Winry isn’t satisfied with the result, and she’s realized that maybe planting something good is exactly what this house has needed, because she’s tired of looking at it and only seeing fire and blood./ Or, Ed returns from his travels to the West, and Winry has something waiting for him.
Relationships: Edward Elric/Winry Rockbell
Comments: 20
Kudos: 89





	have you stopped to notice

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic I first wrote almost five years ago. I've recently been feeling very emotional over the series again, and I thought I'd write another fic after a long time, so I wanted to look at this as a reference first. Instead, I ended up just cleaning it up and deciding to repost it here. 
> 
> I don't think Winry would ever blame Ed and Al for traveling to do research, but I do think it's impossible for anyone to not feel antsy in that situation, especially considering Ed proposed to her before he left. A girl has expectations after all! 
> 
> Title taken from ["Have You Stopped to Notice"](https://genius.com/S-carey-have-you-stopped-to-notice-lyrics) by S. Carey.

One year goes by more slowly than Winry wants it to. 

The familiar walk down the stair steps is lonely without Ed and Al there to thunder past her, eager to snatch a bite of the cakes Granny makes for breakfast. The table is two people too few, and she runs her fingers along the backs of the chairs sometimes, wondering where their muscles used to fall on the carved wood. 

Ed no longer runs back to her every five weeks, arm and leg damaged beyond repair. Now he returns once in maybe three months, and Al not at all, him being in Xing all those miles and miles away, with only letters wrapped in frail ribbon there to give her comfort.

She misses them immensely, more than she ever did, more than when they first left to become State Alchemists—a broken boy and his brother without a body—and more than when they left her in agonizing wait, wondering day and night whether or not they’d come back to her whole, or come back at all. 

Their golden hair manifests itself in flowers and glazed pies and the shine of yellow apples. Winry sees them everywhere, blue eyed gaze lingering on little things that to her are larger than life. 

Granny catches her once, staring off into the endless expanse of hill country that lies to the east and the west. Her hair whips out from behind her, glinting in the dim light of stars against midnight. Granny’s bony fingers latch onto her shoulder. 

“You’re worrying too much,” she chides, but kindly. Winry smiles. 

“You’re forgetting too much is enough,” she retorts, and Pinako chuckles, patting her shoulder once more before leaving to go to sleep. 

Al sends her a letter in late January, lengthy and endearing as always. He tells her more wonderful things about Mei than he did before, and she laughs because the way Al falls in love is more obvious and open, a stark contrast to Ed’s somewhat frustrating subtlety. 

Of course, Ed has sent Winry his fair share of letters, even dappling a few with “love” in the end notes. But sometimes the neighbors ask her whether or not the two of them _will_ get married, because it’s been such a long time coming, and then she can’t help but wonder. 

Her eyes skim over Al’s slanted scrawl, tracing certain lines back to familiar memories. She glances over at the bulletin board hanging on the wall, photographs of every imaginable color tacked onto the rectangular space. 

The Elric family photo from all those years ago still rests there, not quite squared at the edges. Hohenheim’s face is no longer hidden from view, and Trisha smiles on into a future she never gets to see. Winry lays the letter down on the table and walks away. 

* * *

October coming is a subtle thing. It whispers in with the crackle of leaves and warm, fire colors. Winry does nothing out of the ordinary the morning of the third, trudging down the stairs with sleep still hanging over her. Her hair sticks up in too many places, and she halfheartedly smooths it down, as is the routine. 

When laughter emanates from the kitchen, she assumes it to be Granny sharing breakfast with a neighbor. But a few seconds bring her to realize that the bell-like laughter of a certain someone is all too real for her to forget, and she breaks into a run. 

Winry nearly tumbles onto the kitchen floor before catching hold of the door frame. The fall of her body noisily announces her presence, and amber eyes turn to stare at her in a mixture of amusement and curiosity. As Granny snorts from her place at the stove top, Winry stands still and silent a while before blurting out, “Al, you’re back.”

Al positively beams at her, and before she knows it, his arms are wrapping tightly around her shoulders. “I hope you weren’t too lonely,” he says into her hair, and she nearly scoffs but doesn’t, because the importance of holding a grudge pales in comparison to finally having him there. 

She shakes her head and feels tears well in her eyes when she lets him go, batting his hand away when he offers her a napkin. Granny pulls a freshly baked apple pie out of the oven, and the three of them talk over breakfast with such ease that Winry can’t believe Al ever left. 

She’s in the midst of making fun of Ed’s many and awkward letters when Al breaks in and says, “Brother should be here by now.” He stands up to look out the open window, at the rolling hills painted over in shades of red, orange, and yellow. 

The familiar path that runs up to the house is bare. Winry curls her fingers inward out of habit. “How do you know?” she asks, trying to keep her voice level. 

Al looks back to her and smiles. “It’s just a feeling,” he says. “Today is as good a day as any, after all.” 

And she knows that. She knows it like the back of her hand, like the fateful words she once saw scrawled into metal. Winry just can’t believe she never thought of it before. 

“Well, if he is here in Resembool,” pipes up Granny, wrinkles pulling gently at the folds of her skin, “there are only two places he can be.” She stares pointedly at her granddaughter for a moment, but Winry doesn’t catch the look. 

Instead, she stares hard at the wooden tabletop and wonders where exactly it is that Ed could be so early in the morning. Why not here, at home, tired and aching for a slice of her apple pie? Winry makes a face and chews forcefully into her breakfast, scouring her mind for a suitable answer. 

“Especially if it’s today,” Granny adds, stressing each word. 

And that’s when it hits her. 

* * *

“Granny said you’d be here.” 

Ed turns away from the rubble to face Winry, his oversized jacket still hanging awkwardly over her body. Her hair whips past her eyes with the wind, but she pushes back the strands and walks a little farther up the hill to join Ed at what used to be the Elrics’ porch.

“I’m surprised I didn’t think of it myself,” she continues. There’s a plate of apple pie held in her hand, and she offers it to him. “Must be the sleep deprivation.” 

Ed laughs. “Hey to you, too.” He steps forward and ruffles her hair a bit, then takes the pie and downs it eagerly in just a few bites. 

As he brushes the crumbs off of his clothes, he fixes his gaze to what’s left of his family's house: to the patches of grass that have started growing around the stained and broken concrete, and to the plethora of flowers that peek through the cracks. 

A pair of fire lilies grows out from the center of the burned house—where the hallway used to be—their petals curving back and dipping to the ground under the weight of the wind. 

“Since when were there flowers?” he wonders aloud. Winry crosses her arms and bites her lip, releasing a breath. 

“I planted them,” she says softly. “Well, Granny and I did.” She stares nervously at the ground and pushes back a lock of hair as it flies over her mouth. “It was looking kind of empty, you know? Really old and gray. I thought a little color wouldn’t hurt.” 

The truth is that she was bored, and that Granny needed some excuse to use her sickle—for the weeds—before it rusted into misuse. But it’d be a lie to say that Winry isn’t satisfied with the result, and she’s realized that maybe planting something good is exactly what this house has needed, because she’s tired of looking at it and only seeing fire and blood. 

Ed drops into a squat to caress a cluster of marigolds and chrysanthemums seated at the foot of what used to be the threshold. Their varying orange hues blur together under the clouded and hazy sunlight, creating a faint glow. 

_Like a phoenix_ , she’d first thought to herself when they finally finished up. 

“I didn’t think you were into gardening,” Ed says honestly, laughing a little. He stands up again and nods at the display in approval. His eyes move rapidly from one patch of flowers to the next, as if cataloging it all in his brain against what the house used to be. 

“You know I’m fine with getting my hands dirty,” Winry retorts, waving her hand dismissively. Ed breaks from his trance and cocks an eyebrow at her, his mouth splitting into a grin so sudden it makes her nervous all over again. 

He makes a move to approach her, and she frowns a little, stance on the defensive as he closes the gap between them. She’s reminded again that he towers over her easily now, the stubble under his chin feeling a little prickly against her forehead. Ed leans down to look into her eyes. He slips a strand of her hair behind her ear, thumb resting on the curve of it. 

“Really?” he murmurs, eyes glinting with mischief. Winry looks away, cheeks growing hot. Three years ago he’d never have made jokes like this with her, never have had the brazen confidence to get this close and make her feel this self aware of every hair on her skin sticking straight up. 

Two years did him a lot of good and it terrifies her a little because this is the Ed she’d been hoping for all this time, but now that he’s here she doesn’t know that she has the words or emotional capacity to properly process. And it’s not even like he’s said anything that bad to rile her up. 

“Yeah,” she mutters lamely. Ed snickers as if on cue, and she shoots him a scathing glare, though it seems to bounce right off of him. He wraps his arms around her and holds her tight to his chest, swaying them together this way and that. “You’re cute when you’re nervous,” he murmurs contentedly, pressing a kiss to her hairline. 

Winry rolls her eyes, but she smiles in secret. “So I’ve been told.” Ed’s body feels warm and enveloping around hers in the chill, and eventually, he pulls back, but as they make their way home he rests one arm along the back of her shoulders, holding her close to his side. 

The flowers are a ways behind them, but the autumn breeze still sends her faint traces of their scents. Fire lilies, marigolds, chrysanthemums; cosmos, poppies, zinnias—it all blends together. Winry looks to Ed, whose gaze is fixed upon the horizon. His fingers thread absentmindedly through her windswept hair, undoing the tangles. 

“So you like it,” she suggests, not sure if it’s a question or an affirmation. 

Ed just nods. “It’s pretty,” he answers simply. “Mom would like it.” 


End file.
